Just Another Night
by Maddylisse
Summary: Just another night in Agmar's Hammer. ThassTira, one-sided. Before WotLK. One-shot. Dedicated to isuran.


**Just Another Night**

[[ AN: Dedicated to my moirail, isuran. Hope you like it, Anny. : ]]

Agmar's Hammer. It wasn't a very pleasant place, but there were few who called it home. Koltira Deathweaver was not one of them.

The Death Knight, who had just regained his free will, was miserable in every sense of the word. Pulsating blue eyes, those glowing, icy lanterns, were dull and rimmed with dark circles from sleepless nights. His throat was dry, voice hoarse with underuse. His usually tamed hair was in blond disarray, and he couldn't find it in him to care. Byfrost sat, unused, in the corner of his small room. Bloodmist was in his stable, untouched by the stable hands, who were much too fearful to step foot near the Deathcharger.

It was evening in Northrend, and the Horde base was quiet. Everyone was asleep, save for the former blood elf. Exhausted, he sat on the edge of his temporary bed,- if he could call it such; it appeared more like a cot than a bed,- and balanced his elbows on his knees, his head in his hands.

Much had happened since that fateful day in Quel'thalas. His brother's murder. His own murder. The friendship that had bloomed between himself and his murderer, ironically enough. The thought of his brother-like friend made him smile slightly, heart fluttering. Maybe Koltira felt for Thassarian in a manner that was not fit for comrades, but there not a chance in the Nether that he would reveal such frivolous information.

Shaking his head to himself and his wishful thinking, Koltira removed his heavy armor and set it beside his bed, pulling back the sheets and comforters to lie down. The lamp beside his bed was blown out with a visible, frigid puff of breath, and the male was plunged into darkness.

Those glowing pools of sky blue were the only source of light within the small room, and soon, they slipped closed as well.

The choking darkness. The suffocating caliginosity. Those ebony tendrils crept, snaking around the pale elf, constricting him. His past tore itself open in a gruesome bout of color. His skeletons leapt from the closet and performed a ghastly jig.

Faltora's death. The fading look in his sibling's fel-green eyes as his body was split in half by the looming Abomination. The horror that struck him as the beastly creation grinned at him. The sadness that crippled him as his slain brother's entrails were strewn across the ground for all of Quel'thalas to see.

His own demise. The unadulterated animosity. The unreasonable contempt he held against Thassarian for Faltora's death. The reckless lunge. The overall sense of cold when his injured body spasmed around the blade that was impaled through his chest. The crushing defeat that slammed into him as his final breath rattled from his slow-filling lungs.

His awakening. The adoration for the Lich King. The need to please him. The confusion for Thassarian's sudden friendliness and helpfulness. The sudden friendship that had sprung up between the two. First, teacher and student, then brothers in death. The fear he felt when that friendship grew into something more. At least, on his end.

It all crashed down around Koltira, threatened to smother him with the overwhelming emotions. The unconscious elf, locked in his dreams, writhed and thrashed, those mumbles of protests raising in volume to broken screams that one could swear would wake the dead.

Ebony tentacles of memories grabbed at him, attempting to drag him into the painfully nostalgic oblivion. He scratched and clawed at his arms, tearing the flesh open with ease. Crimson spilled across pallid flesh and cyan tattoos, staining ivory sheets. His shouts and pleas for mercy, his cries for his self-proclaimed brother, his 'supposed' unrequited love, fell on deaf ears. Many had tried to cure what ailed him with various potions and concoctions, but nothing worked. Koltira's memories would not stay at bay. The realm of subconsciousness was not a land they could control.

His only solace was morning, and slowly, slowly, did morning come. The platinum blond awakened, drenched in cold sweat, eyes damp with tears, sheets sticky with blood and perspiration, head dizzy with bloodloss, and mind in ruins. Just another night in Agmar's Hammer.


End file.
